Aleatory
by Blaze6
Summary: Aleatory: depending on luck or chance; dependent on uncertain contingencies; done at random, unpredictable. J/S
1. Chapter One

TITLE: Aleatory  
  
AUTHORS: Blaze and Devanie  
  
RATING/SPOILERS: PG-13, and none.  
  
SUMMARY: Aleatory: depending on luck or chance; dependent on uncertain contingencies; done at random, unpredictable.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Not ours. Not that we'd mind. :)  
AUTHORS' NOTE: This is the product of our love for this show and of no small amount of boredom. It's a WIP and we hope to update at least every weekend. We thought it would be interesting to shift the dynamics around a bit both professionally and personally, so this story was born. Hope you enjoy!  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
It was nine-thirty on a Friday night, and Samantha Spade was at work.  
  
Nine-thirty on a Friday and she was looking at an unsolved case from two years ago, looking through boxes and boxes of files and bits of evidence. The case hadn't been particularly unusual, hadn't stuck with her for any particular reason, and yet, here she was, nine-thirty on a Friday, looking through the files. Alone. The office wasn't dark, there were a few bulbs burning at the expense of the taxpayers. But the difference between the exterior of the building and the interior was striking, and she felt as if the outside was nothing more than a black hole, ready to take her and crush her under it's sheer size and gravity.  
  
She felt safer inside, in the office with her work.  
  
As the thought passed by, she laughed, the noise splitting the bubble of silence that had enveloped her. This is ridiculous, Sam, she told herself. Absolutely ridiculous. It's nine-thirty on a Friday night, and you're looking at files.  
  
I should join Workaholics Anonymous. Either that or ask Jack to install cots in the cubicles. Or maybe I should look in to figuring out why I never want to go home. Yes, I think that might be the way to--  
  
Samantha's phone trilled, interrupting her train of thought. "Yeah?"  
  
"Sam?" Jack. He sounded like he'd been crying.  
  
"Jack? Are you okay?"  
  
"I need you to come to the house." His voice was rougher than usual, a slight undercurrent of panic contaminating the words. This was not going to be a social visit.  
  
"Is Marie there?"  
  
"Um..." He exhaled slowly into the receiver. "Yes."  
  
"Jack, what's going on?"  
  
"Hanna's missing. And, uh, I need you."  
  
Hanna, Hanna, Hanna... Oh. Oh, shit. "God, Jack. Hanna?" She'd only met the girl once, about two years ago. Cute kid, Jack's eyes and, she'd guessed, his wife's curly hair. Bubbly, happy, full of questions as any four-year-old is, full of "This is my rabbit and this is my stuffed frog and his name is Jumpy because Daddy told me that frogs jump like this..."  
  
"Hanna. Can you just..." His voice broke. "Can you come to the house?"  
  
Files forgotten, Samantha slid her coat over her arms, cradling the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she grabbed her keys and headed for the elevators. "I'm coming."  
The welcome mat literally said "welcome"; it was burgundy, flowered, and not very Jack at all. It was also very dirty, and Samantha wondered if that was the result of the throng of law enforcement that had already swarmed the house. At least three uniformed officers surrounded the petite brunette sitting on the couch. A detective spoke softly and she pressed her face into her palms. Samantha had been part of this scene many times before and it was always hard. The man pacing across the room from his wife made it harder.   
  
"Jack."  
  
His eyes were red-rimmed but focused as he made his away across the room, not bothering to shorten his stride even as he ran into yet another officer that had walked in behind her. She briefly wondered if it was socially appropriate to give him a hug, but settled for a commiserating arm squeeze instead. "What happened?"  
  
"Marie called me about 20 minutes before I called you. She let Hanna go down the driveway to get the mail. Apparently," Jack tensed his jaw before continuing "Marie looked away for a moment and by the time she looked out the window she could see a blue sedan speeding away. No make, no tag number."  
  
Samantha winced. Observational skills were something Jack didn't lack. It was a staple of their profession. Fear outweighed frustration in his voice, but she wondered how long that would last. "Any calls or ransom demands?"  
  
"No. I need you to call the rest of the team and get set up to intercept any calls that come through here." He handed her a folder. "Photographs and a description. The uniforms are taking care of the press releases now, but this is going to be your show soon."  
  
So that was it. There wasn't going to be any cliche 'I need to be part of this investigation' power struggle. He was excusing himself early. He knew the rules, but she wondered if the responsibility for leading the case of his own child's kidnapping was simply too much pressure.  
  
She also wondered if it was too much for her.  
  
Looking back up from the file, she noticed for the first time how very pale he was. "You should go lie down, Jack."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
He was the antithesis of fine, but she knew before she asked that he wouldn't rest. "I need to talk to Marie. Do you want to be there?"  
  
Shaking his head, he looked from his sobbing wife to the kitchen behind him. "I'll be by the phone."  
  
She stared at his back for a moment, trying to decide whether he blamed Marie for being there and letting this happen or blamed himself for not being there to stop it. Either way Hanna was missing. If she wasn't found, Samantha realized the ultimate blame could fall on her shoulders. Swallowing back a brief feeling of nausea, she approached the chair across from the couch. She smiled cautiously as Marie composed herself, wiping away tears with kleenex grasped in shaky fingers.  
  
As a wave of fresh compassion came over her, Samantha knew that Marie was unaware of the irony of the situation.   
  
The woman most responsible for disruption of her family was now charged with the task of rebuilding it. 


	2. Chapter Two

"Mrs. Malone?"  
  
Marie inhaled shakily, looking up at the new voice. "Yes?"  
  
Sam cut her cautious smile short, leaving just a hint of it on slightly upturned lips. "Hi, I'm Agent Spade. I know you've gone over what happened with the police, but I need to ask you a few questions."  
  
"You work with my husband." Her tone, while not accusatory, still had a slight bite to it. Sam couldn't tell if it was her imagination or if the woman was trying to put pieces of a puzzle together.  
  
"Yes, I do," she replied carefully. "Can you tell me what happened? From the beginning, when you came home."  
  
Marie closed her eyes, her face hardening against a fresh wave of tears. "I. I picked her up at school at 2:30. We came straight home, we didn't stop anywhere at all. She had a snack, um, apple juice and graham crackers, and then she decided that she wanted to color, so. She loves to color, Agent Spade. She's really good. She stays in the lines, and she makes good crayon choices. God, she's." Marie wiped away her tears roughly, trying to compose herself. "She colored for half an hour, to about 3:45, I guess. And then she brought out her toys and started playing one of her make-believe games. I don't. I don't remember what she was playing."  
  
"That's fine," Sam said, writing down 'School: 2:30 p.m. Home, snacked, and playing by 3:45' in her notebook. "What happened after that?"  
  
Jack stepped slowly from the kitchen to the doorway, leaning against the frame, his eyes dark, his expression tight as he listened to his wife.  
  
"Well, the mail usually comes at four. And Hanna loves to get the mail, it makes her feel like a big girl, and responsible."  
  
"The mail came at four?"  
  
"Yes. Around 4:15, actually, she was waiting for the truck to come and kept telling me that he was late."  
  
"You have a male mail carrier?"  
  
"Most of the time, yes."  
  
"And do you have his name?"  
  
Marie shook her head. "He delivers the mail. I don't talk to him very much."  
  
"The post office should be able to tell us who has this route," Jack said, then fell silent at a pointed glance from Sam.  
  
Just like him, she mused. He would try, but completely removing himself from this case was going to be harder than he thought. "When the mail came, what did Hanna do?"  
  
"She told me when he was two houses away. I unlocked the door for her, and she went down the driveway to meet the truck, and then I heard Katie waking up upstairs--"  
  
"Katie is your other daughter?"  
  
"Yes." Marie exhaled, a new pain washing over her face as she recounted the events again. "I was away for a moment, no more, and she was gone. A car I've never seen before was driving off, but I didn't see the license number. Or the make. Just a blue sedan."  
  
"So, I just want to clarify, she went down the driveway alone?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You walked away from her? You left her?" Jack snapped, moving from the doorway into the room.  
  
"It's ten feet, Jack!" Marie responded angrily. "I didn't think there would be a problem!"  
  
"You didn't think? Damn it, she's my daughter! She's six years old!"  
  
"Do you think I don't know that? Christ, Jack, I have been here every day of her life. I know how old she is, I know her favorite color, I know if she likes peanuts in her chocolate chip cookies. You know she's six. And she's in kindergarten. Anything else?"  
  
"Marie, damn it, I know more than that. But it's really fucking hard to know anything recent when you won't even let me in the house. 'Sorry, Jack, I don't want to see you anymore' is one hell of an invitation to see her."  
  
"You could have called, you could have come over any time. I'm not going to stop you from seeing your children, Jack! It's not my fault you're too busy to spend time with them. Where the hell have you been?"  
  
"I've been saving lives, Marie!" he yelled. "I've been finding people and I shouldn't have to get a call from you on my way home and hear that you lost my daughter!"  
  
Sam sat back in the plush chair, eyes flickering between the two. The fight was a little too reminiscent of the last few months of her marriage, and certainly not productive for the investigation. It was uncomfortable, she felt like she was eavesdropping. "Um, would you two like some pri--"  
  
"Right, you deserve the Father of the Year award. Jack, you're half her DNA, but that's it. So don't yell at me for Hanna being kidnapped, you weren't here. You never were, not when you lived here, and certainly not when you left."  
  
"And look how helpful it is to be here," he snapped. "A lot of good it did Hanna to have her mother here."  
  
Okay, this was not going to help. "Jack, can I talk to you?"  
  
"What do you want?" He glared.  
  
"Kitchen, let's go." Samantha got up and headed in the direction of the kitchen, but he was blocking her way. "Jack. Come on."  
  
He raised an eyebrow, staring her down. Not moving a muscle. Damn him.  
  
"Mr. Malone, will you please come to the kitchen so I can speak with you?"  
  
"Yes, Agent Spade." He stepped aside, allowing her to walk into the kitchen, and followed her in, watching her spin around at the table to face him, her expression angry.  
  
"What is your problem, Jack?" When he didn't answer, she continued, "Your daughter is missing. Do not make it worse for my witness."  
  
"Your witness let a six-year-old girl out of her sight and into the hands of God knows who, Samantha. Don't talk to me about making worse for her." He gestured towards the living room. "She's a mother, she never should've let Hanna out of her sight."  
  
Sam arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, well she did, Jack. And I'm sorry that it's your daughter, I'm sorry this is happening to you, but getting angry at Marie is not going to help find Hanna. You're going to compromise my investigation if I can't question her without you having an emotional outburst in the middle of it."  
  
He listened to her without comment, then closed his eyes and nodded, his face losing some of the tension, and, she noted with some glee, he had the decency to look chagrined . "I'm sorry, Sam."  
  
She reached out, touched his arm. Wanted to say something more than "Don't let it happen again", but couldn't. This was not the place, this was not the time. And she was relieved when he nodded and said, "I'll go upstairs and talk to Katie, she should be waking up soon."  
  
"Thank you." Samantha watched him leave the room, his posture off. This was not the confident stride he generally had, but the walk of someone who'd lost everything. Which, she reflected, was true. He had.  
  
But if she was going to get his confidence back, she'd have to finish questioning Marie. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and prepared to go back into the living room. I can do this. It's just another witness at just another scene. I can do this.  
Staring at the coffee table, Marie didn't lift her eyes as Samantha sat down across from her for the second time. A moment passed, then two, before she realized that the other woman wasn't going to acknowledge her presence. "Mrs. Malone?"  
  
A nod.  
  
"Do you know of anyone who might want to..." This was always more difficult when the missing person was a child. It was impossible to come off as anything but cold. "...harm Hanna? Did she have any enemies?"  
  
"Enemies? She's six, Agent Spade. I don't think someone stealing her Barbie is cause for concern." Her tone was harsh, biting.  
  
"I know. I'm sorry. We just need to explore every possibility. Have you seen anyone suspicious around the house? Someone taking more walks past your house or strange telephone calls? Hangups?"  
  
"Not at all. Everything's been normal."  
  
"And Hanna's been acting okay? No symptoms of withdrawal or depression?"  
  
The question brought fresh tears. "No. She's actually been happier than she'd been in a long time. Since the separation. That was hard on her. On both of the kids."  
  
Marie didn't know. She couldn't know. So why did her gaze seem accusatory? Swallowing, Samantha realized continuing the questioning would only serve to stress the already fragile woman more. "I think that's about it for now. If you remember anything at all from this afternoon or any suspicious activity at all, will you please call me?" Reaching into her coat to pull out a card, she paused with a weak smile. "You know the number."  
  
She nodded. Just then, a smaller version of Hanna appeared from the hallway and climbed onto her mother's lap. Marie swept the girl's brown hair back with her left hand while holding her tightly with her right.  
  
Samantha smiled in spite of her spinning emotions. "Is this Katie?"  
  
"Yes." The voice belonged not to Marie, but to Jack.  
  
"She's beautiful. I haven't seen her since she was an infant." Jack had brought both daughters to work on one of his few days off. It was the first and last time she had seen them. Noticing Katie was eyeing her warily, she offered the little girl a small wave. She got a blink in response. Not being too adept in her interaction with small children, she considered that a success.  
  
Jack crossed the room and stood close. Too close. Why did the room seem smaller? She took a step away. "I better go to the office."  
  
"I'll ride with you."  
  
Marie stood suddenly, Katie still clinging around her neck. Both agents watched as she climbed the stairs without a word. Was it Jack's coolness toward his wife, or was she angry because of her involvement? Samantha decided that the latter gave herself too much credit. "Danny and Martin will be here in a few minutes. Are you sure this wouldn't be a better place for you to be right now?"  
  
"What, and stare at the walls? I can do that in my office." He must have realized he was shouting and lowered his voice. "I know my daughter. I'd be much more useful to you than I would be here."  
  
She knew he would. She also knew not to question him about his obligations at home. "Okay, but this is my case. The moment you start getting too involved I'll have to treat you like every other parent." She spoke softly. This wasn't easy for either of them.  
  
"I know." They stared at each other for a moment before she broke eye contact and moved past him into the foyer. Opening the door, she was barely outside when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned and was surprised when she found herself wrapped in a hug; Jack's hair brushing against her ear.  
  
She held him for a moment, conflicted. He needed comfort and she wanted to give it to him. Marie needed comfort and no one was giving it to her.  
  
"Jack, I know this is hard. It's also hard for Marie. You can't blame her. Not if you want to maintain any kind of objectivity."  
  
He pulled away and met her eyes for a moment, then looked over her shoulder to an approaching Martin and Danny. "Let's go."  
  
Seven hours missing. Their night had just begun. 


	3. Chapter Three

They did not speak on the drive back to the office.  
  
Jack passed the time staring out the side window, squinting at every person as if he thought that they would know something, anything, about Hanna, his weary face only growing more haggard. Twice, as she was changing lanes, Sam caught him snapping his eyes open, and thought about telling him it would be okay to sleep. She had a feeling he would need to be told, that an outside source would have to allow him to miss a few waking hours. She knew he'd dismiss the idea as he had before, but decided to suggest it again. "Jack..."  
  
He reached over and turned up the radio at the sound of his name, and she bit back the rest of the sentence before it escaped. So he didn't want to talk. There would be plenty of time to talk later.  
  
The security guard nodded his head slightly as they entered the garage, and she was sure he was wondering what they were doing there. As the car stopped, Jack frowned and looked at the bare concrete walls of the garage, trying to place his location. She'd never seen him this out of it, and she wondered if the drive back had given him enough time to let the events of the day truly settle in for the first time.  
  
He blinked at her when she said, "I'm going to need a photograph for the timeline." Jesus, he really was out of it. "Of Hanna." No response. She pondered calling the shrink from Employee Assistance, wondered how mad the man would be if she woke him up at nearly midnight on a Friday night. "Jack. I need a picture of Hanna."  
  
"I have one in my office." His voice was gravelly, and he seemed to be swallowing past a big lump in his throat. She wished she could do more than just watch him walk to his office, flick on the light and remove the picture of his daughter from the frame. Jack looked at the picture for a long moment, a small sad smile coming on his face, before he walked out of the room, striding purposefully to the white board. He pinned Hanna's picture up, sighed heavily, and traced the image with a finger. Then he picked up the black marker and wrote "Hanna Malone", her birthdate and day of disappearance, and the case number. Putting the marker back, he took a step away from the board, and again, a grim half-smile flickered on his face.  
  
"Thank you," she said quietly, and he nodded.  
  
"She's, uh, she's a good kid, Sam. A great kid." Jack looked at her expectantly, as if he needed confirmation. She swallowed, meeting his eyes for a long moment before he turned back to the image and said, "Find my daughter, Samantha."  
  
"I will," she said, the words nothing short of a promise. She reached up and patted his shoulder awkwardly, wondering why this was so damn hard, why she couldn't comfort him without it being an ordeal. Maybe because every time she thought about it, she'd see Marie all alone on the couch. Completely alone. What did she have? A husband angry and unable to look at her, a husband who probably didn't love her anymore, a husband who blamed her for something unforgivable in his mind. Her daughter missing, in the hands of God-knows-who. Her other daughter upstairs in another room, old enough to know something's really wrong, too young to know what to do. And she was all alone with no one to hold her and tell her it would be okay.  
  
I want to tell her it'll be okay, Sam thought. I want to be there for her. But that's not that easy. I am actively engaged in the destruction of her marriage. I'm the reason she's alone. She knew that Jack hadn't given her the case to make her completely uncomfortable, but it had.  
  
Thank you for leaving me torn, boss.  
  
A sharp trilling broke the silence. Recognizing the sound of her cell, Sam pulled the phone from her pocket and pushed Talk. "Hello?"  
  
"Hey, it's Danny."  
  
"Hey. You got something for me?" Jack turned, his face brightening.  
  
"Would I call otherwise?"  
  
"Spill."  
  
"Ransom call just came in."  
  
"Already?" Jack raised an eyebrow. "Ransom demand," she mouthed. He nodded, gestured for the phone. She shook her head.  
  
"Yeah," Danny said. "What's weird, though, the caller apologized for not calling earlier."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He apologized. Exact words, and I quote, were 'I'm sorry for not calling earlier, Hanna and I had an extended dinner.'"  
  
"He mentioned the girl?"  
  
Sam heard the rustle of Danny's nod. "Oh, yeah. He was very polite. Asked how the mother was."  
  
"How is she?"  
  
"She told him to kiss her ass and give back her daughter."  
  
"Hmmm, didn't think she was the type. What is he asking?" She gestured to Jack for paper and a writing instrument. He pulled his notepad from his jacket pocket and took a pen off Martin's desk. Turning the end of the pen to reveal the point, he handed both items to her, then pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.  
  
"Ten thousand, bill denominations don't matter as long as it's not marked."  
  
Only ten thousand? What the hell? Her pen hovered above the page. "You're sure about that amount?"  
  
"Scout's honor, Samantha. You can listen to the tape."  
  
She inhaled, letting the breath out in a rush. "That's a very small amount of money for a ransom, Danny."  
  
"I know. He wants it by 3 am outside the Museum of Natural History. The wife has already said she'll pay it, even if Jack won't."  
  
She thought for a moment. "Okay. Thanks, Danny. Will you and Martin stay there? Maybe one of you can get ahold of Vivian? I haven't seen her." He agreed, and she hung up, slipping the phone back in her pocket.  
  
"Well?"  
  
Sam sighed, sat down, and locked eyes with him. "Ten thousand." Jack didn't seem concerned by the amount of money. "That's nothing, Jack."  
  
He nodded. "I know."  
  
"You know what they say about ransoms like this."  
  
Jack nodded again.  
  
"She could be dead already, Jack. It's not a significant amount of money."  
  
"I'm going to the drop." She recognized his tone; he generally used it to end conversations. Not this time.  
  
"Jack, are you listening to me? Hanna could be dead. You should be a little more concerned."  
  
"I am concerned!" he yelled. "She's not dead, okay? She's not dead."  
  
"Jesus, Jack! It's not a significant amount of money! Why would the kidnapper take so little money for a girl?"  
  
"I don't know!" he roared. "I don't know," he repeated quietly. "Sam, she's not dead. Maybe. . . Maybe the kidnapper isn't after the money."  
  
Samantha sighed again. "Maybe not." 


	4. Chapter Four

"It must be 30 degrees in here."

Samantha either didn't hear or didn't acknowledge Danny, but that didn't stop him from trying to cut through the thick tension in the car. "I bet there are agents in Florida conducting stakeouts in shorts."

"Probably." Her voice was distant before continuing. "It's 11:35. The kidnapper said 11:30. Child abductors are almost never late. They released statistics last year; 70% of arrests in these cases occur when the suspect shows up early."

Danny drummed his fingers on the console. "Maybe our guy read the statistics."

Shifting in her seat, Samantha looked across the street to the blue sedan parked along the curb. She wondered what Jack and Marie were talking about. If they were talking at all.

"How is Jack taking this?"

"Hard. I think he skipped denial and went straight to the anger stage. I can't imagine..."

Danny looked at her. "Anger? At his wife?"

Opting for discretion, she shrugged. "At the situation."

"You interviewed Marie. Was she helpful at all?"

"No real description. She didn't see anything. Typical snatch-and-flee. No one catches a glimpse of anything useful, but there's plenty of blame to go around."

"I bet that was awkward for you."

Samantha snapped her head around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He leaned against the door, raising both hands in defense. "Having to interview the bosses' wife about their kid has to be a tricky situation."

That was better than the 'Well, you did break up their marriage' answer. "Yeah, it was a difficult spot to be in."

Nodding, Danny stared back ahead, the lights from the dash casting him in an eerie glow. "11:40."

Dammit. Making a snap decision, she spoke into the small radio tucked into the lapel of her jacket. "Jack, go ahead and do the drop. He could be waiting in any one of these buildings."

No response came, but she saw the door open and his familiar form walk toward a round trash bin near the crosswalk. Ten steps, then twenty steps...He was nearing thirty when a car slammed their vehicle from behind.

Samantha's head hit the steering wheel and she wondered if the bright light was from the impact or the headlights behind them. "Shit! This was a setup."

Tires squealed as the car that had hit them spun into reverse. Reacting quickly, Samantha shouted over the din. "Try to get a tag. I'm going to the drop area."

She was only slightly cognizant of the retreating tail lights as she caught sight of Jack 100 yards ahead of her, gun drawn. He clutched a sheet of paper in his left hand as he jogged to meet her, slowing as he approached. "Jesus, Sam. Are you okay?"

Feeling a bit lightheaded, she raised her fingers to her forehead almost distractedly. "Maybe not. What does the note say?" Pulling her fingers back in front of her eyes, she saw blood.

Danny ran up behind them. "I couldn't get a tag number. Black, older model, four door. It was too dark to get anything else."

If Samantha could describe Jack's look, it would be authoritative helplessness. He tossed his keys and the note to the younger male agent. "Danny, take Marie back to the house. Wait by the phone. If you get so much as a wrong number, page me. Don't leave her side. Actually, see if you can get a couple of uniforms by the door. And get Martin to run that note down to the lab; I want it checked for everything." 

He looked at Samantha. "You come with me."

Marie glanced at the rearview mirror as Danny pulled the car away from the museum. Framed perfectly were her husband and Agent Spade, standing far too close together for her comfort. She watched him reach out a hand and brush hair away from the other woman's face. It was too gentle, too familiar.

"They're very close," Danny said, catching the change in expression on her face.

"I noticed."

Jack's hand dropped from Samantha's hair back to his side. "This looks pretty bad," he said, gesturing to the cut on her forehead. "We should go to the hospital."

"It's fine. It's drying up." The worry on his features was making her nervous. Granted, she had had blood dripping into her eye, but it had stopped two minutes ago. "Will you stop staring at me like I'm about to bleed out?"

"Sorry." Under the orange glow of a street light, the blood looked darker, more prominent than it probably was. "I would feel better if we got a bandage on it."

"No stitches."

"I promise."

Danny started to say that what he had said earlier about Jack and Samantha wasn't meant the way it came out, but closed his mouth when he realized it would sound like he was covering for something. And it wasn't fair to cover something if he wasn't sure there was anything to cover up.

"I'm sorry about your daughter, Mrs. Malone," he said finally.

Turning away from the window, she said, "Don't be. You didn't lose her."

The car was silent for the rest of the journey back to the house.

The two agents had been in the car for ten minutes, neither speaking, as he guided the vehicle towards the nearest Walgreens. She'd insisted she didn't need to go to a hospital, that she'd be 'fine, we can stop at a pharmacy and get bandages'.

"Turn left at 5th street?"

Samantha nodded, then waited a few moments before speaking, walking the balance between her need for information about the case and her own concern for Jack. "What does the note say?"

He stared straight ahead, shifting lanes. "That he'll be calling tomorrow with more instructions. That if there's surveillance again, there won't be another chance." Swallowing, he turned the wheel and they headed east. She could tell he was struggling with how much to tell her.

"What else?"

"'Shelby says hi.'" 

Her confusion was evident, so he continued. "In '97 I investigated the case of a missing seven year old from Scarsdale. Shelby Brightman. She was taken from her school and never spotted again. No sightings, no evidence. No one even got a description of the vehicle. We searched for three weeks before turning the case back over to the NYPD."

Samantha exhaled loudly. "So you think it's the same person?"

"Shortly after we had dropped the investigation I started getting notes. All typewritten on the same kind of plain stationery. Taunting me. Asking me why I couldn't find her, ridiculing the FBI's inability to chase him down."

Her stomach lurched. "So you think he's come back to make things more personal?"

"It's the only thing I can think."

Closing her eyes, Samantha shook her head. "Maybe they'll be able to get some trace evidence off the letter. Prints, DNA..."

The air in the car felt almost claustrophobic as Jack felt the weight of the situation crashing down around him. "He's too smart for that. He must have sent me close to 20 of those at the time. Not one shred of information came out if it."

She fought her headache even as the pounding increased. "What do we do now?"

"We buy bandages and get you fixed up. And then…" He shrugged. "Then we'll see."

Celine Dion sang softly about love lost as Jack and Sam wandered down a far too bright Walgreens aisle looking for bandages. They'd already waved off the lone clerk, who'd taken one look at her bloody forehead and retreated away from his offer of assistance.

"Here," he said, coming to a stop in front of a five-shelf section devoted to first aid. "Spongebob Squarepants Band-Aids?"

She grimaced as her arched eyebrow caused the skin around her wound to move painfully. "No." Samantha grabbed a box of plain cotton gauze and a roll of medical tape. "I'm going to need Advil and some water."

The two stopped at the cash register, dropping the box, tape, ibuprofen and Aquafina on the counter, along with a small bar of Hershey's chocolate. "For Hanna, when she comes back," he said, his sudden weary optimism erasing her inquisitive glance at the candy.

They exited the store, Jack carrying the plastic bag in one hand as he stuffed the receipt into his wallet with the other. When they reached the Bureau sedan, he placed his wallet back in his pocket and opened her door, handing Sam the bag once she'd gotten settled in, then walked around the car and climbed in.

Jack reached above her head and turned on the overhead, the light barely bright enough to illuminate the car. Brushing her hair aside, he got his first real look at the wound since they had left the drop site. He ran his fingertips lightly over the raised area on her forehead. "Are you sure you don't want me to take you to the hospital? This might need stitches."

She flashed him a weak smile in gratitude, but her voice was firm. "I'm fine. We have bigger priorities right now," she responded, knowing that Jack knew that better than anyone and mentally chastising herself for saying the words.

He ripped open a pack of gauze and pressed a piece gently against the cut. "Here, hold that in place."

Samantha raised her fingers to his and found the edges as he withdrew his hand to open the roll of tape. The dim light accentuating his haggard appearance. "You look exhausted."

Smoothing the tape into place, he took in her pale complexion, lank hair, and the bruise darkening across her forehead. "You don't look that great yourself."

"You've been up longer than I have." She paused to palm the Advil he held out for her. Taking a sip of water, she continued. "Why don't you let me drive. Get some rest. The second anyone calls, I'll wake you."

His body was making the decision for him, but he made one last attempt at a protest. "Are you sure?"

Handing him the bottle of water, she climbed out of the passenger seat. "Positive."

Jack stayed awake long enough for them to switch seats.

Samantha looked at his slumbering form for a long moment as she coasted to a stop at a red light. Now what? She could take him back to his house, his wife, one remaining daughter and all the pain. But what was she supposed to tell Marie? 'Sorry, he fell asleep in the car, so I drove around town for an hour trying to figure out where to put him' didn't have the right ring.

There was always 'We were working late.' But… could that sound more suspicious?

The only thing to do now was take him home with her.

"Jack?" He mumbled something inaudible as Samantha cut the engine. "Wake up."

His eyes still closed, Jack popped the release on his seatbelt and asked, "Where are we?"

"My apartment."

One eye opened lazily, and he yawned. "Why?"

Telling him she wasn't actually sure wasn't an option. "You're exhausted. I'm exhausted. It's not safe for either of us to drive back to your house."

"You drove here," he replied sleepily.

"It's not on the other side of the city, Jack. Come on, let's go up."

Jack surveyed his surroundings as he'd been trained, commenting, "Nice place."

Samantha looked over her shoulder, meeting his eyes. "Nothing's changed since the last time you were here," she said, a wry smile settling itself on her face.

"It's cleaner."

"Only because your clothes aren't scattered all over the floor," she shot back, instantly regretting her decision to make the comment. It was not an appropriate time for teasing, not an appropriate moment for these memories.

His jaw worked like he was about to speak, but he didn't. An awkward moment passed before she said, "Bedroom's this way."

She shifted on the couch. Watched the display on her VCR change from 1:57 to 1:58. Shifted again. She hadn't realized how short it was before.

Replaying the conversation they'd had as he'd slipped between the sheets fully clothed, Samantha wondered if her choice to take the couch was more out of a need to remain distant during the course of the investigation or if they'd entered a new level of uncomfortable post-affair interactions. Either way, she wanted to be in the bed and couldn't be.

She heard the rustle of her sheets as Jack turned, thought again how comfortable the bed was, how her blankets weren't scratchy like this one was...

I can't climb into bed with him, she thought. I can't. We need to keep our distance right now.

Marie's going to find out, she told herself as she rose.

She's going to find out and that will ruin my credibility as the agent in charge. Sam pulled back the blankets and slid in next to him.

Marie is going to find out.


	5. Chapter Five

She seemed to be doing a lot of clock watching these days.

Sam pondered this as she stared down her alarm clock, wondering if she could sneak out of bed and get back to the couch before Jack woke up.

It wasn't that she hadn't woken up with him before—she had, more than once—it was why she was waking up with him, how it came to be that she was waking up with him, who she was waking up with him for.

And as much as she didn't mind, and in fact enjoyed, waking up with him, part of her could not let go of the feeling that it had never been more inappropriate.

"Hi."

So much for making it back to the couch. "Hey."

"Thought you were taking the couch."

"I was." She left it at that. "Did you sleep okay?"

The pillow rustled as he nodded. "As well as can be expected."

And just like that, the case pushed its way into the morning light of her bedroom. "I know I told you this before, Jack, but I'm sorry about Hanna."

"I know." The words brushed against her ear, his low tone slipping in and working a slow path to her brain. She hadn't realized just how close he was until that point. Turning over to face him, she had just enough time to notice the pain in his eyes before he added, "Me too."

They had always been in a position to take away the other's pain, to erase the events of a case or the memory it brought back. To take the anguish upon themselves, to ease the weight, to destroy it with a word, a kiss, a touch, a night if it was too immense to handle alone. And it was killing her that she could not, would not, make a move to get rid of that pain now. It would be so easy to just kiss him. To touch him. To make Hanna's disappearance go away for a little while.

But it would all come shattering back, harder and more painful than before, and she could not cheapen the case or the cause by sleeping with him.

Jack broke the silence with a half-whisper of, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking... I want to save you and I can't. That none of this is fair."

He reached out a hand and lightly touched her bandage, his hand trailing down her face. "I wish you could."

It seemed too easy, too expected, when he leaned in and brushed her forehead with his lips. Retreating slightly, he looked into her, she looked into him…

And just as she was about to throw away her insistence that kissing him would bring nothing but trouble to the investigation, his cell phone trilled.

Samantha started and reached a hand out, grabbing the instrument off the bedside table and punching the 'talk' button. "Hello?"

"It's Vivian. Where are you?"

"My apartment. You want to talk to Jack?"

She mouthed 'Vivian' to him as the other agent said, "No, just tell him that the records for the Brightman case are in Scarsdale."

"Scarsdale?"

Jack climbed out of bed, sliding his dress shirt over his shoulders. "Yes, Scarsdale," Vivian replied. "One of our cold case storage units is there."

"Funny," Samantha mused as Jack put on his shoes. "That's where the Brightman family lives."

"Just the father, actually," Jack injected.

"Tell Jack that we haven't heard anything, will you? Danny and Martin are both at his home, right by the phone with his wife, but nothing so far."

"How odd," Sam said, getting out of the bed. "After a ransom drop gone bad, he doesn't call?"

Jack turned, his face holding the question. "Nothing about this case is normal," Vivian pointed out. "I need to go. Keep us posted on what you two find in Scarsdale."

"Okay, Viv. Thanks." They said their goodbyes, and she hung up, handing the phone to Jack. "Vivian. The Brightman files are in Scarsdale."

Taking the phone and putting in the pocket of his jacket, he said, "Better get dressed. It's a long drive." Jack headed for her living room.

"Jack." He turned at the door. "I didn't mean to tell her you were here."

"She knows, Sam."

"I know, I just... didn't want her to be thinking about what we were doing while your daughter is missing."

"If we weren't doing anything, there's nothing for her to think about." He left the room.

She emerged five minutes later, looking as fresh as one can in new clothes and the previous day's hair and bandage. "Scarsdale?"

"Let's go."

The girl was quiet.

Shelby had been quiet. He supposed this one and Shelby were quiet for different reasons, this one (Hanna, remember? The girl's name is Hanna) out of strength, Shelby out of fear and a voice strained by screams.

Was Hanna's silence born of her parentage? Did her refusal to speak, to move, come from her father or her mother? He recalled her mother's grating voice hours earlier, remembered her father's emotionalism. No, if the girl was at all like her parents under emotional stress, she would have reacted by now. Strongly, fiercely.

Perhaps she was biding her time, resting for the attack.

Her father was the type to do that. Calm, then quick to accuse. He wondered what Malone had done when he'd seen the note. Their first communication in years. Did he recognize it immediately? Did he have to search his brain for Shelby's name or had he known right away?

So many questions, so few answers. The time would come.

He'd made a mistake last night. Hit the wrong car. He'd intended to hit Malone's, but had positioned himself incorrectly. The night had nearly gone to hell when he saw Malone crossing from the other side.

All was well, however. He'd still caused damage.

Looking down at the girl (so quiet, why is she so quiet?), he wondered who the blonde was. FBI, certainly, and new. She hadn't been involved in his last encounter with the Bureau.

However new or slightly rusted she was, Agent Malone had apparently staked his claim, if his little gesture on the museum steps was any indication. Did the wife know? Did the girl?

"Are you hungry?" he asked pleasantly. "Would you like more juice?" He'd risked exposure by wandering with her through the local market, picking out things she loved, things she would eat, things her parents would never let her have.

She remained silent, just shook her head with the slightest movement possible. Eyes frightened, but angry, and still strong.

"Sure?" he asked again. "I only want what's best for you, Hanna."

The only response he received was the same, increasingly unnerving stare. Damn it, why the fuck was she so quiet?

Shelby never did this. Shelby never gave him this look, this horrible, horrible stare. There had been no anger and distrust and dislike and strength in her fear. No, Shelby had just been scared. Shelby had moved, Shelby had screamed.

He wanted Hanna to move.

The drive to Scarsdale was a long one, nearly two hours with the heavy early morning traffic on the Bronx River Parkway. Jack looked over at a silent Samantha, her eyes obscured by sunglasses. He spoke tentatively. "Sam?"

"Yeah."

"I thought maybe you were asleep."

She sat up a little straighter. "No. Just thinking."

He wondered if she was thinking about the case. In all the fears regarding his lack of objectivity, he hadn't stopped to think about how difficult it might be for her. For all kinds of reasons. "Did you want food?"

Stretching a little in her seat, she suddenly couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. "Maybe just something from a drive-through."

Ten minutes later they were back on the road, Samantha picking at pancakes in a Styrofoam carton while Jack kept his eyes on the road, occasionally taking a cautious sip of his coffee.

"You should have gotten something to eat." It was the first time she had spoken to him without prodding since the apartment, he realized.

"I'm fine." Watching as she pushed yet another piece of her breakfast to the side, he considered his next words. "Are you okay?"

She stared at him. "Do you think I should be on this case?"

If Jack had to be honest with himself, he would admit that he didn't. Didn't because objectively he could see that this was more complicated of a situation than she should have to deal with. "I can't afford to not have you on this one."

She nodded and he felt a pang of guilt. It will be over soon, he told himself. We'll find Hanna and a month from now we'll have moved on and this will just be a bad memory.

"I just can't help thinking that I'm responsible in no small way for this." 

Jack's mouth went dry. When he finally spoke his voice was tight, controlled. "The only person responsible is the son of a bitch who took my daughter. Whatever you and I have has nothing to do with it."

She noticed and dismissed his use of the present tense to classify their relationship. "If I wasn't such a source of friction in your marriage..."

"That would only be true if Marie knew about us."

Swallowing hard, Samantha bit back a response. It wasn't the time for recrimination. "That's not what I meant."

His voice lowered. "I know what you meant. But it's my job that kept me away from my family, and I'm going to have to live with that. If you want to step away from the case because you've been personally involved with one of the parents, fine, but don't do it out of some misplaced form of guilt."

He really was living up to his promise to remain objective, and she wondered how much it was taking out of him. "Okay." As his subordinate, she had to take him at his word. As something more personal than that, doubt remained. She looked down at her lap. "I'm sorry. Hanna is the biggest priority here. It just keeps cycling through my mind..."

"All the what-ifs in this world won't help us find her, Sam. I need your head in this case. If you can't do that, I'll assign another agent, but you're a bigger asset to me here than you are sitting at home."

"I can do it." Samantha spoke with more authority than she felt.

"Thank you." His right hand trailed down her wrist, his fingers entwining with her own. A comforting gesture, but she was still surprised when he didn't let go. 

The drive continued in silence, the only movement in the car coming from Jack's frequent checks of his cell phone. The power was on and the ringer wasn't muted, but still no calls had come.

The Scarsdale storage unit was essentially nothing more than a large closet; the files not stored in the computer database lined the walls, a fairly heavy layer of dust coating every surface. The boxes of evidence along the walls came exclusively from local cases left unsolved by state and federal offices all over the country. Returned to be handled by a police department too small to give them a serious second glance. 

Jack spread out several photographs along the only clean workspace in the room. Shelby's last class picture, taken a week before her disappearance. An evidence photo of a small tennis shoe found in the dense underbrush behind the Brightman home. A screen capture from a convenience store surveillance camera where a child matching the girl's description was seen with an unidentified male.

"It doesn't add up, Jack." Samantha looked up from a nearby computer monitor, the pressure already starting to build behind her eyes. After two hours the dust and mold they had stirred up made the air almost unbreathable. "The time that's elapsed since Shelby's disappearance, the lack of physical similarities between the girls. Why come back now? Target Hanna because you didn't put him away?"

Stacking the photos, he shook his head. "The mere fact he sent the note shows he's a game-player. Maybe he's bored. Maybe he's raising the stakes. Or maybe this goes a lot deeper than the Brightmans. We never did get a motive for the kidnapping."

"What, you think maybe this isn't about the kids?"

"Instead of looking for links in the disappearances we should be seeing if there are any links between my background and Doug Brightman's. Why Shelby was a target and not any other child. Exclude the common motives like money or molestation. What else is there?"

"Revenge?"

He nodded. "Call Martin. Ask him to dig up anything we can find on Mr. Brightman. Past jobs, his religious orientation, any clubs he might belong to, how he likes his coffee. Then I want to cross-check his information against mine."

Samantha dialed. "What then?"

"We're going back to the scene of the crime."


End file.
